


A Good Girl (Except When Not)

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Series: On Tacit Grounds [2]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Implied Incest, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s all she wants and needs to know, but damn, does she <i>need</i> to know. (Post-series, alternate canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Girl (Except When Not)

She’s a good girl.

Except when she’s not.

Like when she sits back in the armchair and parts her knees and pulls Lincoln between her spread thighs. Her dress rides high on her legs and Lincoln had removed her panties several minutes ago so there’s nothing but thin, heavy air between her and his mouth.

Like when she knows that Michael is watching from the doorstep, lurking in the shadows, heart and stomach eaten by lust and jealousy. She lays her hand on the back of Lincoln’s head and looks Michael in the eye.

There’s something going on between the brothers; something not brotherly at all. Michael didn’t admit it when she questioned him (because she’s not blind), but he didn’t deny it either. There’s only one reason why a man wouldn’t be offended and deny such suspicions.

She doesn’t want to know more. They probably don’t want to explain more — who would? She doesn’t need to know more, anyway. She gets it. The bond is crazy and unhealthy, certainly immoral and damaging, but still less damaging than if it had to be severed.

Michael doesn’t handle severed bonds very well.

She’s not a good girl tonight, so she slides a bit on the padded seat of the armchair and takes a sharp breath when Lincoln kisses her inner thigh so high that’s it’s not quite her _thigh_ anymore. His fingers, his mouth, his teeth tease and cater to her in ways she’s familiar with even though, before tonight, he’s never done more than give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. It’s through Michael that she’s familiar with those ways.

She bites her tongue. She won’t ask Lincoln if he’s the one who taught that to Michael, if this is how he does it to Michael, how Michael does it to him. She doesn’t even know — doesn’t want, doesn’t need to know, remember? — if they even do anything remotely close to _that_.

Never mind that it was the point, knowing how he feels to Michael, that it’s how and why they’ve ended up there. She seduced Lincoln — if taking his hand and placing it on her lower stomach after she’d confronted the two men can be pegged as ‘seduction’, of course. That’s all she wants and needs to know, how he feels to Michael if they do... anything, but fuck, does she _need_ to know.

“Sara...”

Lincoln’s voice is a barely audible rumble against her pussy — she’s not a good girl, tonight, and she’s calling a spade a spade — that does fantastic things to her. The warm and moist breath, the vibrations, the rough voice, the fact that Michael knows that his brother said something but can’t hear what it is...

“Sara, stop thinking.”

She barks out a laugh because she doesn’t have to wonder if he’s ever said that to Michael.

She puts two fingers under his chin and forces his face up. She looks at him now, not at Michael anymore, because she can’t trust Michael with what’s she’s about to demand. It has to be Lincoln.

“I don’t want to know what you do. Or don’t do.”

“I know,” Lincoln acknowledges.

“But whatever it is, be safe.” Lincoln opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn’t let him. She shakes her head; she doesn’t mean _this_ kind of safe, she knows better, knows they’re not careless or reckless, towards one another and towards her. “Don’t hurt one another,” she clarifies.

She’s not a good girl tonight, and he has the most amazing tongue — besides Michael’s — so rather than moving away from him, she removes her fingers from his chin and lets him finish what he’s started; begs him to finish what he’s started with words, intonations and gasps she usually saves for Michael.

He holds her down so tight that she’s going to have bruises on her hips tomorrow — but who cares — and he tongues into her, hard and deep and merciless. She comes on his mouth with a strangled cry and her spine arching in an impossible way.

She’s a bad, helpful girl, tonight. Still gasping for air, she slides down the armchair and into Lincoln’s lap, and grinds against him until he spills into his pants. She hears the rustle of Michael’s clothes a dozen feet away when his instincts command him to step in but his brain forbids him to. He has to hold onto the doorframe. Lincoln holds onto her hips and slams her down hard. She kisses his jaw.

Lincoln bites her neck when he comes, just the same way that... and she feels tears burning the corner of her eyes.

FIN

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